By Carlos Detres

I read an article over a year ago in Time Out New York by Christian Lorentzen called, “Why the Hipster Must Die” .

It’s a passionate and contemptuous piece written by a talented writer who misunderstands, as most people do, the character of subculture. What he’s most upset it about is that cool now belongs to a less deserving group of people.

Describing the hipster, Lorentzen writes:

“Yes, the assassins of cool still walk our streets: Any night of the week finds the East Village, the Lower East Side and Williamsburg teeming with youth—a pageant of the bohemian undead. These hipster zombies—now more likely to be brokers or lawyers than art-school dropouts—are the idols of the style pages, the darlings of viral marketers and the marks of predatory real-estate agents. And they must be buried for cool to be reborn.”

For a writer to survey, analyze, and demonize an entire population and announce a takeback of “cool” is pretty stunning. Writers aren’t purveyors of cool. I’m not and neither is he but for every generation there is always a smartass or two who, during the height of a cultural epoch, turns the pistol of his pen to a scapegoat and pulls the trigger. The problem is not with them.

In the 1960s an entire generation revolted against its elders values, including segregation, the Vietnam War, and women’s and gay rights. In the 1970s there was an infamous incident in which a disc jockey in Chicago openly destroyed disco records in Comiskey Park, setting off a riot of rock fans in fear of the demise of their favorite music. In the 1980s, it was the war on drugs — the excuse made to criminalize lifestyle under the guise of cocaine and civility. The 1990s surge of raves and burgeoning dance club scene resulted in the deafening decision by Rudolph Giuliani to enforce the antiquated Cabaret Law that was once reserved for illegal cabarets. Today it’s the multi-media sources of the blogosphere, YouTube, print, and television against itself. Just do a search for “hipster” and you’ll see sites dedicated to the expression of hatred toward the hipster.

I’m sure he meant well when he declared a “civil war” on hipsters but it only further promulgates the subject he so loathes. The title of the article doesn’t lack the irony that Lorentzen abhors. His piece was included in an issue devoted to all things hipster in an effort by TONY to voice both sides of this supposed subcultural movement but what needs to be said is that there is no such thing as a hipster. It’s a myth.

I agree that there are identifiable people who are the “darlings of viral marketers”, reinforced by retailers such as American Apparel and Urban Outfitters. I agree that every girl wants to look like the sartorially gifted Karen O. but there is no pedantic chivalry like the Beats exhibited. There is no philosophical unity like what was shared between the Transcendentalist. There is no movement for complete and utter social change like the ’60s generation committed themselves to (amongst other things). Our modern time is all image and marketing and the media bathes in the conflagration.

What should be noted, what escapes so many is that there is still relevance even if it appears to have no meaning. People identify problems in society in the one that wears it the best. It has all been image and has been since the days of (god I hate this word) grunge. The simple title of “cool” belongs to those who wear, breathe, and identify their position individually, which can be anyone. If there was any modern cultural heroism it died with Dash Snow.

Our current station that many disdain is really something we have all contributed to. Our desire for debauchery, attire, money, fancy haircuts, and nice apartments have poured into the same pool. We just wear different clothes. If a subculture becomes more apparent it’s because it has something to say even if it’s some kind of convoluted nihilism or anti-corporate/closet-corporate movement. Unfortunately, this kind of rhetoric isn’t limited to hipsters. It continues to goths, hippies, hardcore kids, punks, and my own guilty scapegoat — suits. To quote an aphorism: “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.”

It’s in retrospect that we look back at the old days with a different sort of eye, an older eye, a wiser eye — and most gut-wrenching — the eye of a nostalgic heart because it’s the ones we despise that will cause us to remember the best and worst parts of us. When we look in the mirror we’ll find that the scapegoat was ourselves.